


Developing Potential

by Nny



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Lamb - Christopher Moore
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-02
Updated: 2010-07-02
Packaged: 2017-10-10 08:43:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/97801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nny/pseuds/Nny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Stick with me, kid. You'll go far."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Developing Potential

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Ji

Turned out America was a bit much for Maggie.

I guess I can see what she means; after 2000 years with nothing, the atmosphere in America was a little too bright, and too loud, and too much neon, and after that stop at Vegas...

Who am I kidding? I _loved_ it. It was like everything I ever dreamed about, only my dreams never had this much ambition. You could buy the world on a plate, and I _mean_ you could buy the world on a plate. There was this thing called a bacon double cheeseburger, which I'm not going to go into now because I could fill up pages with rhapsodising and I'd never get done with the story. And I've got a lady waiting, if you know what I mean, and I think you do.

One thing I _will_ say is that fashions have definitely changed. Girls that dress a certain way, turns out, aren't quite as forthcoming as they used to be when I was alive the first time. Found that out the hard way. Random boyfriend 1, Biff 0, and when Maggie found out _why_ I had a black eye the sympathy vanished pretty quickly and I got a matching one for the other side, which was at least symmetrical. It's probably good for my Feng Shui. Do people have Feng Shui? Sure, why not? Turns out that the lack of symmetry puts the dragon of my spleen out of alignment with the camel that's draped across my shoulders.

...hey, maybe I've got a career to come back to, when we go back over.

What really impressed me was the assortment of things that you could buy. I mean, my particular area of interest has gone underground, it's true, but the range of food and clothes and _books_ you can get hold of are mindblowing.

So yeah, definitely put me down as a fan of America. But Maggie was less enthralled and since Maggie had me by the balls, in every _possible_ sense, we decided to start somewhere a little smaller-scale for our re-entry into society. A holiday.

Which is how we ended up in this little place called England.

-

We were on a train. I like trains - it was an improvement on the plane we'd come over on, anyhow. It's the lack of ear popping. Oh, and the comforting sensation that you're not dangling above _miles_ of thin air, and that there's a distinct lack of falling-out-of-the-sky-into-firey-oblivion potential. So yeah, I like trains. And we were supposed to be going somewhere called London, only I was slightly distracted watching Maggie sleep and the way she wrinkles up her nose and the way her chest moves...

...not like _that_.

Well.

Okay, maybe a _little_ like that. _Two thousand years_.

So anyway, I see a train station, and I see 'LO-' on the sign, and I panic slightly. Grabbed our bags, ushered a still-half-asleep-Maggie off the train, took a breath, watched the train pull away, and then realised that hey, Toto? We're not in London. London was definitely supposed to be busier than that.

To be honest, I wasn't too worried. England had seemed pretty friendly so far, if a little reserved. One advantage it definitely had over America was that a way lower number of churches had my dead best friend on a stick.

Yeah.

Definite advantage.

The first one'd nearly got me arrested, nearly killed me.

 

But, yeah, England. I had a word with the uniformed guy on the station, and it turned out that this wasn't exactly the hub of the cultural world, and we weren't gonna get another train until the next morning at the earliest, so Maggie and I wandered off to find a Bed and Breakfast, of which she took happy advantage of the former and I left in search of some form of the latter.

And it was when I was sauntering along the high street, feeling pretty good about life in general, that I saw him. He was smarter dressed, maybe, and looked kind of at home where he was, but there was no way that the guy was anything other than an angel - too pretty to be real.

So I popped him one.

And then I noticed the guy beside him - dark hair, dark glasses, snarl rapidly forming - and I figured that my best defense was a good _offense_. So I popped _him_ one, too. And his sunglasses flew off into the road, where they got run over by a little white Mini, and he looked at me, straight in the eyes.

And that was when I _knew_ I was in trouble.

-

In my defense, if _you'd_ been stuck in a hotel room with Raziel for - however long I was stuck in a hotel room with Raziel - you'd have done the same. The angel I knew was a blithering idiot, and the angel I knew about was what I knew about angels.

Turned out Aziraphale was a bit different. Which definitely worked in my favour because if he hadn't been I'm pretty sure Crowley would have gutted me and feasted on my intestines, and probably would've had a really nice wine with it, too.

See, Crowley was a demon. Which I'm still trying to get my head around. He wasn't a demon like Catch was a demon, all entrails and decapitation and blood, although occasionally when he looked at me he'd have this expression that definitely hinted that decapitation was always an option. Always just after he'd looked at the angel, and the red mark on his cheekbone, actually.

And that was the weirdest thing out of the lot of them. Because okay, demon that was kind of lackadaisical about human temptation, I could deal with. Sloth was a sin, one I was pretty fond of. Demon that was friends with an angel, on the other hand, was more than a little hard to take. I mean, talk about your diametric opposition. (This gift of tongues thing I like. We never had this many words when I was around before.)

Thing was, it wasn't just friends. You could tell by looking at them that it wasn't just friends, and that was... I _still_ can't figure it out.

Josh's dad is _weird_.

-

"Can I get you another cup?"

Being an angel, it turned out (at least as far as Aziraphale was concerned), involved a hell of a lot of tea. I was sloshing when I moved. I hesitated a second and Crowley sneered in my direction.

"Don't offer him more. Don't want to encourage him, he might stay."

"Really, my dear," the angel murmured, while I heaved myself to my feet and pointed dramatically.

"Begone, foul fiend!"

The demon bared his teeth and Aziraphale threw an annoyed look in my direction before carefully clearing his expression.

"That never works, my dear," he said sympathetically. "Not when there are biscuits."

We were at a little cottage called 'Shangri-La' and I was pretty sure it didn't belong to them, although they had a key. I was almost certain that Crowley wouldn't put up with quite so many frills and stuffed animals about the place. The angel I wasn't so sure about. They knew their way around well enough, though, and they moved like people who'd known each other too long, never getting in each others' way or trying to do the same thing. I think I even saw Crowley smile, once. It was making me kind of uncomfortable, actually, like I was intruding on something that was usually kept for the priveleged few.

And then the kid arrived, and the atmosphere suddenly changed.

Crowley got even snakier, if that was possible, sniping at everything I said, and even Aziraphale was less friendly, shooting me weird glances like he wanted me to leave but wasn't quite sure how to tell me.

Say what you like about me but I can take a hint. Hit me enough times with a brick to the head and eventually I'll get the idea that something's wrong. So I made my excuses and left, but something made me stick around. Sixth sense, maybe. Or it could've been the part where I heard Crowley in the kitchen hissing to Aziraphale that they really had to get rid of me before I worked it out. That might have had something to do with it.

So when the kid reappeared I followed him home. He didn't see me; of course he didn't see me, I didn't train with the monks for nothing.

It's the little things you notice. Like the fact that every time he wanted to cross a road there was a miraculous red light. Or the way it was raining gently on me but there seemed to be a little spot of good weather hovering directly over him. Or the part where the car that nearly hit his dog suddenly swerved and hit a parking meter. Little things.

I figured might as well be hung for a sheep as a turtle, and went over and grinned at him just as he was about to open his garden gate.

And that was the clincher, I think. I mean, I've read the news, I know what goes on these days, but the kid just looked up at me without even the slightest trace of fear in his blue eyes. He had to be someone pretty special - the new messiah, or the antichrist, or _something_.

"Hey, kid. What's your name?"

He shrugged. "Adam."

And it was pretty much all I could do not to laugh. Someone Up There has a sense of humour, and somehow I'm pretty sure it's Josh. So I grinned at him, and he grinned back.

"You ever been to Vegas, Adam?"

He looked at me, slightly suspicious.

"Is that in America?"

"Yeah, it's in America."

His interest was piqued, I think.

"Is it true they have more'n thirty nine flavours of ice cream?"

_That_ time I laughed.

"Loads more."

"I think I want to go to Vegas then."

I grinned at him, and put an arm around the top of his head.

"Stick with me, kid. You'll go far."


End file.
